FROM    THE   LIBRARY   OF 

REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


1  'SC'S 


V2 


THE 


,.> 


JAN  "7  1933 


THOUGHT    OF    GOD 


HYMNS    AND    POEMS 


BY 


// 


FREDERICK  L.   HOSMER 

AND 

WILLIAM  C.  GANNETT 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

1885 


Copyright)  1885 

BY    FREDERICK    L.    HOSMER   AND 
WILLIAM    C.    GANNETT 


John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge 


TO 

J.  LL.  J. 

AND   OUR   FELLOW-WORKERS   IN   THE   WEST 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Thought  of  God F.  L.  H.  .  .  9 

Listening  for  God W.  C.  G. .  .  11 

The  Mystery  of  God F.  L.  H.  .  .  13 

Consider  the  Lilies,  How  they  Grow  W.  C.  G.  .  .  15 

The  Secret  Place  of  the  Most  High  "        .  .  17 

The  Indwelling  God F.  L.  H.  .  .  19 

The  Highway W.  C.  G. .  .  21 

A  Psalm  of  Trust F.  L.  H.  .  .  23 

Glories  that  Remain W.  C.  G. .  .  25 

The  Larger  Faith F.  L.  H.  .  .  27 

The  Stream  of  Faith W.  C.  G. .  .  29 

Found F.  L.  H.  .  .  31 

Theodore  . W.  0.  G.  .  .  33 

My  Dead F.  L.  H.  .  .  35 

Green  Pastures  and  Still  Waters   .  W.C.G..  .  37 

Father,  to  Thee F.  L.  H.  .  .  39 

Through  Unknown  Paths  ....  "         .  .  41 

He  that  Inhabiteth  Eternity  ...  "         .  .  43 

On  the  Mount "        .  .  45 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Loyalty F.  L.  H.  .  .  47 

Passing  Understanding      ...          "  .  .  49 

The  Sunny  Side W.  C.  G.  .  .  51 

Flower  Sunday F.  L.  H.  .  .  53 

The  Little  Ones "  .  .  54 

Christmas W.  C.  G.  .  .  55 

The  Children's  Service  .    .    .    .  F.  L.  H.  .  .  57 

Jesus  Who  ?  . W.  C.  G.  .  .  60 

Christmas F.  L.  H.  .  .  63 

Jesus "  .  .  65 

The  Year  of  the  Lord    .    .    .    .  W.  C.  G.  .  .  67 

The  New  Year F.  L.  H.  .  .  69 

The  Day "  .  .  72 

The  Hills  of  the  Lord    .    .    .    .  W.  C.  G.  .  .  74 

Sunday  on  the  Hill-top  ....           "  .  .  77 

The  Cathedral "  .  .  80 

The  Past "  .  .  84 

Summer  Chemistry "  .  .  87 

Where  Did  it  Go  ? "  .  .  89 

Recognition "  .  .  91 

In  a  Look "  .  .  95 

The  Fiftieth  Anniversary  ...           "  .  .  97 

The  Teacher "  .  .  99 

The  Cliff  at  Newport      ....  F.  L.  H.  ..  100 

In  Sleep "  .  .  101 

Ministry "  .  .  103 

The  Minister's  Journey     .    .    .  W.  C.  G.  .  .  104 

In  Twos "  .  .  107 


CONTENTS 


Vll 


Poem  and  Dogma      .    .    . 

The  Halo 

Not  All  There 

Let  it  Begin  Here !  .  .  . 
Aunt  Phillis's  Guest  .  .  . 
The  Negro  Burying-ground 
Gettysburg  in  1885  .  .  . 
The  Right  Goes  Marching  On 
Our  Country , 


W.  C.  G. 


F.  L.  H. 


PAGE 
110 
113 

115 
117 

119 
123 
126 
129 
131 


THE  THOUGHT  OF  GOD 

One  thought  I  have,  my  ample  creed, 

So  deep  it  is  and  broad, 
And  equal  to  my  every  need,  — 

It  is  the  thought  of  God. 

Each  morn  unfolds  some  fresh  surprise, 

I  feast  at  Life's  full  board ; 
And  rising  in  my  inner  skies 

Shines  forth  the  thought  of  God. 

At  night  my  gladness  is  my  prayer; 

I  drop  my  daily  load, 
And  every  care  is  pillowed  there 

Upon  the  thought  of  God. 

I  ask  not  far  before  to  see, 

But  take  in  trust  my  road  ; 
Life,  death,  and  immortality 

Are  in  my  thought  of  God. 


10  THE    THOUGHT  OF  GOD 

To  this  their  secret  strength  they  owed 
The  martyr's  path  who  trod  ; 

The  fountains  of  their  patience  flowed 
From  out  their  thought  of  God. 

Be  still  the  light  upon  my  way, 

My  pilgrim  staff  and  rod, 
My  rest  by  night,  my  strength  by  day, 

0  blessed  thought  of  God  ! 

1880 


LISTENING  FOR  GOD 

I  hear  it  often  in  the  dark, 

I  hear  it  in  the  light,  — 
Where  is  the  voice  that  calls  to  me 

With  such  a  quiet  might  ? 
It  seems  but  echo  to  my  thought, 

And  yet  beyond  the  stars ; 
It  seems  a  heart-beat  in  a  hush, 

And  yet  the  plauet  jars  ! 

Oh,  may  it  be  that  far  within 

M}r  inmost  soul  there  lies 
A  spirit-sky,  that  opens  with 

Those  voices  of  surprise  1 
And  can  it  be,  by  night  and  day, 

That  firmament  serene 
Is  just  the  heaven,  where  God  himself, 

The  Father,  dwells  unseen  ? 


12  LISTENING  FOR   GOD 

0  God  within,  so  close  to  me 

That  every  thought  is  plain, 
Be  Judge,  be  Friend,  be  Father  still, 

And  in  thy  heaven  reign  ! 
Thy  heaven  is  mine,  —  my  very  soul! 

Thy  words  are  sweet  and  strong  ; 
They  fill  my  inward  silences 

With  music  and  with  song. 

They  send  me  challenges  to  right, 

And  loud  rebuke  my  ill ; 
They  ring  my  bells  of  victory, 

They  breathe  my  '  Peace,  be  still  ! y 
They  ever  seem  to  say,  — c  My  child, 

Why  seek  me  so  all  day  ? 
Now  journey  inward  to  thyself, 

And  listen  by  the  way ! ' 

Milwaukee,  1870 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   GOD 

0  thou,  in  all  thy  might  so  far, 

In  all  thy  love  so  near, 
Beyond  the  range  of  snn  and  star, 

And  yet  beside  us  here,  — 

What  heart  can  comprehend  thy  name, 
Or,  searching,  find  thee  out, 

Who  art  within,  a  quickening  Flame, 
A  Presence  round  about  ? 

Yet  though  I  know  thee  but  in  part, 

I  ask  not,  Lord,  for  more  : 
Enough  for  me  to  know  thou  art, 

To  love  thee  and  adore. 

0  sweeter  than  aught  else  besides, 

The  tender  mystery 
That  like  a  veil  of  shadow  hides 

The  Light  I  may  not  see  ! 


14  THE  MYSTERY  OF   GOD 

And  dearer  than  all  things  I  know- 
Is  childlike  faith  to  me, 

That  makes  the  darkest  way  I  go 
An  open  path  to  thee. 

1876 


CONSIDER  THE  LILIES,  HOW  THEY 
GEOW 

He  hides  within  the  lily 

A  strong  and  tender  care, 
That  wins  the  earth-born  atoms 

To  glory  of  the  air ; 
He  weaves  the  shining  garments 

Unceasingly  and  still, 
Along  the  quiet  waters, 

In  niches  of  the  hill. 

We  linger  at  the  vigil 

With  him  who  bent  the  knee 
To  watch  the  old-time  lilies 

In  distant  Galilee ; 
And  still  the  worship  deepens 

And  quickens  into  new, 
As  brightening  down  the  ages 

God's  secret  thrilleth  through. 


16  CONSIDER    THE  LILIES 

0  Toiler  of  the  lily, 

Thy  touch  is  in  the  Man  ! 
No  leaf  that  dawns  to  petal 

But  hints  the  angel- plan. 
The  flower-horizons  open  ! 

The  blossom  vaster  shows ! 
We  hear  thy  wide  worlds  echo,  — 

See  how  the  lily  grows  ! 

Shy  yearnings  of  the  savage, 

Unfolding  thought  by  thought, 
To  holy  livens  are  lifted, 

To  visions  fair  are  wrought ; 
The  races  rise  and  cluster, 

And  evils  fade  and  fall, 
Till  chaos  blooms  to  beauty, 

Thy  purpose  crowning  all ! 

F.  R.  A.  Festival,  1873 


THE  SECRET  PLACE  OF  THE  MOST 
HIGH 

The  Lord  is  in  his  Holy  Place 

In  all  things  near  and  far! 
Shekinah  of  the  snowflake,  he, 

And  Glory  of  the  star, 
And  Secret  of  the  April  land 

That  stirs  the  field  to  flowers, 
Whose  little  tabernacles  rise 

To  hold  him  through  the  hours. 

He  hides  himself  within  the  love 

Of  those  whom  we  love  best ; 
The  smiles  and  tones  that  make  our  homes 

Are  shrines  by  him  possessed  ; 
He  tents  within  the  lonely  heart 

And  shepherds  every  thought ; 
We  find  him  not  by  seeking  long,  — 

We  lose  him  not,  unsought. 

2 


1 8     SECRE  T  PLACE  OF  THE  MOST  HIGH 

Our  art  may  build  its  Holy  Place, 

Our  feet  on  Sinai  stand, 
But  Holiest  of  Holies  knows 

No  tread,  no  touch  of  hand  ; 
The  listening  soul  makes  Sinai  still 

Wherever  we  may  be, 
And  in  the  vow,  '  Thy  will  be  done  ! ' 

Lies  all  Gethsemane. 

For  C.  W.  W.,  Chicago,  1873 


THE  INDWELLING  GOD 

1 0  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him  ! ' 

Go  not,  my  soul,  in  search  of  him, 
Thou  wilt  not  find  him  there,  — 

Or  in  the  depths  of  shadow  dim, 
Or  heights  of  upper  air. 

For  not  in  far-off  realms  of  space 
The  Spirit  hath  its  throne  ; 

In  every  heart  it  findeth  place 
And  waiteth  to  be  known. 

Thought  answereth  alone  to  thought, 
And  Soul  with  soul  hath  kin  ; 

The  outward  God  he  findeth  not 
Who  finds  not  God  within. 

And  if  the  vision  come  to  thee 

Revealed  by  inward  sign, 
Earth  will  be  full  of  Deity 

And  with  his  glory  shine ! 


20  THE  INDWELLING   GOD 

Thou  shalt  not  want  for  company 
Nor  pitch  thy  tent  alone  ; 

The  indwelling  God  will  go  with  thee 
And  show  thee  of  his  own. 

0  gift  of  gifts,  0  grace  of  grace, 
That  God  should  condescend 

To  make  thy  heart  his  dwelling-place 
And  be  thy  daily  Friend  ! 

Then  go  not  thou  in  search  of  him, 

But  to  thyself  repair  ; 
Wait  thou  within  the  silence  dim 

And  thou  shalt  find  him  there ! 

1879 


THE  HIGHWAY 

•  Whatever  road  I  take  joins  the  highway  that  leads  to 
thee.1 

When  the  night  is  still  and  far, 

Watcher  from  the  shadowed  deeps  ! 
When  the  morning  breaks  its  bar, 

Life  that  shines  and  wakes  and  leaps ! 
When  old  Bible-verses  glow, 

Starring  all  the  deep  of  thought, 
Till  it  fills  with  quiet  dawn 

From  the  peace  our  years  have  brought,  — 
Sun  within  both  skies,  we  see 
How  all  lights  lead  back  to  thee ! 

'Cross  the  field  of  daily  work 

Kun  the  footpaths,  leading  —  where? 

Run  they  east  or  run  they  west, 
One  way  all  the  workers  fare. 


22  THE  HIGHWAY 

Every  awful  thing  of  earth,  — 

Sin  and  pain  and  battle-noise ; 
Every  dear  thing,  —  baby's  birth, 
Faces,  flowers,  or  lovers'  joys,  — 
Is  a  wicket-gate,  where  we 
Join  the  great  highway  to  thee ! 

Kestless,  restless,  speed  we  on,  — 

Whither  in  the  vast  unknown  ? 
Not  to  you  and  not  to  me 

Are  the  sealed  orders  shown  : 
But  the  Hand  that  built  the  road, 

And  the  Light  that  leads  the  feet, 
And  this  inward  restlessness, 

Are  such  invitation  sweet, 
That  where  I  no  longer  see, 
Highway  still  must  lead  to  thee ! 

For  J.  W.  C,  Brooklyn,  1876 


A  PSALM  OF  TRUST 

I  little  see,  I  little  know, 

Yet  can  I  fear  no  ill: 
He  who  hath  guided  me  till  now 

Will  be  my  leader  still. 

No  burden  yet  was  on  me  laid 

Of  trouble  or  of  care, 
But  he  my  trembling  step  hath  stayed, 

And  given  me  strength  to  bear. 

I  came  not  hither  of  my  will 

Or  wisdom  of  mine  own: 
That  higher  Power  upholds  me  still, 

And  still  must  bear  me  on. 

I  knew  not  of  this  wondrous  earth, 
Nor  dreamed  what  blessings  lay 

Beyond  the  gates  of  human  birth 
To  glad  my  future  way. 


24  A  PSALM  OF   TRUST 

And  what  beyond  this  life  may  be 

As  little  I  divine,  — 
What  love  may  wait  to  welcome  me, 

What  fellowships  be  mine. 

I  know  not  what  beyond  may  lie, 

But  look,  in  humble  faith, 
Into  a  larger  life  to  die 

And  find  new  birth  in  death. 

He  will  not  leave  my  soul  forlorn  ; 

I  still  must  find  him  true, 
Whose  mercies  have  been  new  each  morn 

And  every  evening  new. 

Upon  his  providence  I  lean, 

As  lean  in  faith  I  must : 
The  lesson  of  my  life  hath  been 

A  heart  of  grateful  trust. 

And  so  my  onward  way  I  fare 
With  happy  heart  and  calm, 

And  mingle  with  my  daily  care 
The  music  of  my  psalm. 

1883 


GLORIES   THAT   REMAIN 

'  If  that  which  is  done  away  was  glorious,  much  more  that 
which  remaineth  is  glorious.' 

Fairer  grows  the  earth  each  morning 

To  the  eyes  that  watch  aright ; 
Every  dew-drop  sparkles  warning 

Of  a  miracle  in  sight ; 
Of  some  unsuspected  glory 

Waiting  in  the  old  and  plain  ; 
Poet's  dream  nor  traveller's  story 

Words  such  wonders  as  remain. 

Everywhere  the  gate  of  Beauty 

Fresh  across  the  pathway  swings, 
As  we  follow  truth  or  duty 

Inward  to  the  heart  of  things; 
And  we  enter,  foolish  mortals, 

Thinking  now  the  heart  to  find,  — 
There  to  gaze  on  vaster  portals ! 

Still  the  Glorv  lies  behind ! 


2G  GLORIES   THAT  REMAIN 

Faith  I  love  !     I  love  you  deeper 

As  I  press  your  portals  through, 
Heeding  not  the  call  of  keeper, 

Heeding  sole  the  vision  new ! 
All  our  creeds  are  hinting  only 

Of  a  faith  of  nobler  strain  : 
God  is  living  !  are  we  lonely, 

'Mid  his  glories  that  remain  1 

F.  R.  A.  Festival,  1874 


THE   LARGER  FAITH 

We  pray  no  more,  made  lowly  wise, 

For  miracle  and  sign  ; 
Anoint  our  eyes  to  see  within 

The  common  the  divine. 

1  Lo  here,  lo  there,'  no  more  we  cry, 

Dividing  with  our  call 
The  mantle  of  thy  presence,  Lord, 

That  seamless  covers  all. 

We  turn  from  seeking  thee  afar 

And  in  unwonted  ways, 
To  build  from  out  our  daily  lives 

The  temples  of  thy  praise. 

And  if  thy  casual  comings,  Lord, 
To  hearts  of  old  were  dear, 

What  joy  shall  dwell  within  the  faith 
That  feels  thee  ever  near  ! 


THE  LARGER  FAITH 

And  nobler  yet  shall  duty  grow, 
And  more  shall  worship  be, 

When  thou  art  found  in  all  our  life, 
And  all  our  life  in  thee. 


1879 


THE  STREAM  OF  FAITH 

From  heart  to"  heart,  from  creed  to  creed, 

The  hidden  river  runs  ; 
It  quickens  all  the  ages  down, 

It  binds  the  sires  to  sons,  — 
The  stream  of  Faith,  whose  source  is  God, 

Whose  sound,  the  sound  of  prayer, 
Whose  meadows  are  the  holy  lives 

Upspringing  everywhere. 

How  deep  it  flowed  in  olden  time, 

When  men  by  it  were  strong 
To  dare  the  untrod  wilderness, 

Charmed  on  by  river-song! 
Where'er  they  passed  by  hill  or  shore, 

They  gave  the  song  a  voice, 
Till  all  the  craggy  land  had  heard 

The  Father's  Faith  rejoice. 


30  THE  STREAM  OF  FAITH 

And  still  it  moves,  a  broadening  flood  ; 

And  fresher,  fuller  grows 
A  sense  as  if  the  sea  were  near, 

Towards  which  the  river  flows ! 
O  thou,  who  art  the  secret  Source 

That  rises  in  each  soul, 
Thou  art  the  Ocean  too,  —  thy  charm, 

That  ever-deepening  roll ! 

For  J.  M.,  Newburyport,  1875 


FOUND 

'  They  that  know  thy  name  will  put  their  trust  in  thee.* 

0  Name,  all  other  names  above, 

What  art  thou  not  to  me, 
Now  I  have  learned  to  trust  thy  love 

And  cast  my  care  on  thee  ! 

What  is  our  being  but  a  cry, 

A  restless  longing  still, 
Which  thou  alone  canst  satisfy, 

Alone  thy  fulness  fill ! 

Thrice  blessed  be  the  holy  souls 
That  lead  the  way  to  thee, 

That  burn  upon  the  martyr-rolls 
And  lists  of  prophecy. 

And  sweet  it  is  to  tread  the  ground 
O'er  which  their  faith  hath  trod  ; 

But  sweeter  far,  when  thou  art  found, 
The  soul's  own  sense  of  God  ! 


32  FOUND 

The  thought  of  thee  all  sorrow  calms  ; 
Our  anxious  burdens  fall ; 
His  crosses  turn  to  triumph-palms 
Who  finds  in  God  his  all. 

1878 


THEODORE 

0  Heart  of  all  the  shining  day, 

The  green  earth's  still  Delight, 
Thou  Freshness  in  the  morning  wind, 

Thou  Silence  of  the  night, 
Thou  Beauty  of  our  temple- walls, 

Thou  Strength  within  the  stone,  — 
What  is  it  we  can  offer  thee 

That  is  not  first  thine  own  ? 

Old  memories  throng  :  we  think  of  those 

Awhile  with  us  who  trod, 
Whose  hands  yet  lift  within  our  lives,  — 

We  called  them  «  Gift  of  God : ' 
And  thine  these  shinings  in  our  thought, 

This  eager,  love- wrought  hope, 
This  deathless  faith  they  wait  and  watch 

On  some  fair  upper  slope. 
3 


34  THEODORE 

0,  solemn-sweet  the  sureness  grows, 

When  such  as  they  have  passed  ; 
The  darkness  fills,  the  silence  thrills, 

Their  life  pervades  the  Yast ; 
The  vanished  virtue  quickens  through 

And  touches  every  star  ; 
Their  unseen  love  —  we  know  it  thine, 

Thy  Living  Love  they  are  ! 

Parker  Memorial  Dedication,  1873 


MY  DEAD 

I  cannot  think  of  them  as  dead 
Who  walk  with  me  no  more  ; 

Along  the  path  of  life  I  tread 
They  have  but  gone  before. 

The  Father's  house  is  mansioned  fair 

Beyond  my  vision  dim  ; 
All  souls  are  his,  and  here  or  there 

Are  living  unto  him. 

And  still  their  silent  ministry 
Within  my  heart  hath  place, 

As  when  on  earth  they  walked  with  me 
And  met  me  face  to  face. 

Their  lives  are  made  forever  mine; 

What  they  to  me  have  been 
Hath  left  henceforth  its  seal  and  sign 

Engraven  deep  within. 


36  MY  DEAD 

Mine  are  they  by  an  ownership 
Nor  time  nor  death  can  free  ; 

For  God  hath  given  to  Love  to  keep 
Its  own  eternally. 

18S2 


GREEN    PASTURES   AND    STILL 
WATERS 

Clear  in  memory's  silent  reaches 

Lie  the  pastures  I  have  seen, 
Greener  than  the  sun-lit  spaces 

Where  the  May  has  flung  her  green: 
Needs  no  sun  and  needs  no  starlight 

To  illume  these  fields  of  mine, 
For  the  glory  of  dead  faces 

Is  the  sun,  the  stars,  that  shine. 

More  than  one  I  count  my  pastures 

As  my  life-path  groweth  long  ; 
By  their  quiet  waters  straying 

Oft  I  lay  me,  and  am  strong. 
And  I  call  each  by  its  giver, 

And  the  dear  names  bring  to  them 
Glory  as  from  shining  faces 

In  some  New  Jerusalem. 


38  GREEN  PASTURES 

Yet,  0  well  I  can  remember, 

Once  I  called  my  pastures,  Pain, 
And  their  waters  were  a  torrent 

Sweeping  through  my  life  amain ! 
Now  I  call  them  Peace  and  Stillness, 

Brightness  of  all  Happy  Thought, 
Where  I  linger  for  a  blessing 

From  my  faces  that  are  nought. 

Nought  ?    I  fear  not.     If  the  Power 

Maketh  thus  his  pastures  green, 
Maketh  thus  his  quiet  waters, 

Out  of  waste  his  heavens  serene, 
I  can  trust  the  mighty  Shepherd 

Loseth  none  he  ever  led  ; 
Somewhere  yet  a  greeting  waits  me 

On  the  faces  of  my  dead  ! 

F.  R.  A.  Festival,  1877 


FATHER,   TO  THEE 

Father,  to  thee  we  look  in  all  our  sorrow, 
Thou  art  the  fountain  whence  our  healing 
flows  ; 
Dark  though  the  night,  joy  cometh  with  the 
morrow ; 
Safely  they  rest  who  on  thy  love  repose. 

When  fond  hopes  fail  and  skies  are  dark  be- 
fore us, 
When  the  vain  cares  that  vex  our  life  in- 
crease, — 
Comes  with  its  calm  the  thought  that  thou 
art  o'er  us, 
And  we  grow  quiet,  folded  in  thy  peace. 

Nought   shall   affright  us  on  thy  goodness 
leaning, 
Low  in  the  heart  faith  singeth  still  her 
song; 


40  FATHER,    TO    THEE 

Chastened  by  pain  we  learn  life's  deeper 
meaning, 
And  in  onr  weakness  thou  dost  make  us 
strong. 

Patient,  0  heart,  though  heavy  be  thy  sorrows ! 

Be  not  cast  down,  disquieted  in  vain ; 
Yet  shalt  thou  praise  him  when  these  dark- 
ened furrows, 
Where  now  he  plougheth,  wave  with  golden 
grain. 

1881 


THROUGH  UNKNOWN  PATHS 

0  thou  who  art  of  all  that  is 

Beginning  both  and  end, 
We  follow  thee  through  unknown  paths, 

Since  all  to  thee  must  tend: 
Thy  judgments  are  a  mighty  deep 

Beyond  all  fathom-line  ; 
Our  wisdom  is  the  childlike  heart, 

Our  strength,  to  trust  in  thine. 

We  bless  thee  for  the  skies  above, 

And  for  the  earth  beneath, 
For  hopes  that  blossom  here  below 

And  wither  not  with  death  ; 
But  most  we  bless  thee  for  thyself, 

0  heavenly  Light  within, 
Whose  dayspring  in  our  hearts  dispels 

The  darkness  of  our  sin. 


42      THROUGH  UNKNOWN  PATHS 

Be  thou  in  joy  our  deeper  joy, 

Our  comfort  when  distressed  ; 
Be  thou  by  day  our  strength  for  toil, 

And  thou  by  night  our  rest. 
And  when  these  earthly  dwellings  fail 

And  Time's  last  hour  is  come, 
Be  thou,  0  God,  our  dwelling-place 

And  our  eternal  home  ! 

1877 


HE  THAT  INHABITETH  ETERNITY 

Who  does  not  feel  how  weak 

Are  all  our  words  to  speak 

Of  him,  the  Infinite,  — 

Below  all  depth,  above  all  height  ! 

Yet  hath  no  other  speech 

To  me  such  wondrous  reach 

As  this  the  prophet  saith :  that  he 

Inhabiteth  Eternity  ! 

We  dwell  in  Time  :  our  ear 
Is  deafened  by  things  near  ; 
Darkly  we  see,  and  know 
Only  in  part,  also. 
From  troubles  that  annoy 
Plucking  no  future  joy, 
Sweetening  failure's  bitterness 
With  no  deferred  but  sure  success,  — 
As  if  the  passing  hour  were  all, 
With  it  we  rise  and  fall : 
The  while  that  he 
Inhabiteth  Eternity! 


44     HE  THA  T  INHABITE  TH  E  TERNITY 

Patient  and  suffering  long 

With  man's  mistakes  and  wrong  ; 

Seeing  how  all  threads  come 

In  place  in  Time's  vast  loom, 

And  in  the  finished  web  fulfil 

The  pattern  of  his  perfect  will ; 

To  whom  as  one  is  seen 

What  is,  will  be,  hath  been,  — 

Tranquil  and  lifted  clear 

Above  our  fevered  atmosphere, 

Forever  dwelleth  he 

In  the  sure  strength  of  his  Eternity  ! 

0  Father  of  my  life, 

Give  me,  amid  its  strife, 

To  bear  within  my  breast 

The  secret  of  thy  rest,  — 

The  river  of  thy  peace  within, 

Whose  banks  are  always  fresh  and  green  ; 

Give  me,  while  here  in  Time  I  be, 

Also  to  dwell  with  thee  in  thine  Eternity. 

1879 


ON  THE  MOUNT 

Not  always  on  the  mount  may  we 
Bapt  in  the  heavenly  vision  be; 
The  shores  of  thought  and  feeling  know 
The  Spirit's  tidal  ebb  and  flow. 

Lord,  it  is  good  abiding  here  — 
We  cry,  the  heavenly  presence  near : 
The  vision  vanishes,  our  eyes 
Are  lifted  into  vacant  skies ! 

Yet  hath  one  such  exalted  hour 
Upon  the  soul  redeeming  power, 
And  in  its  strength  through  after  days 
We  travel  our  appointed  ways  ; 

Till  all  the  lowly  vale  grows  bright 
Transfigured  in  remembered  light, 
And  in  untiring  souls  we  bear 
The  freshness  of  the  upper  air. 


46  ON   THE   MOUNT 

The  mount  for  vision,  —  but  below 
The  paths  of  daily  duty  go, 
And  nobler  life  therein  shall  own 
The  pattern  on  the  mountain  shown. 

1882 


LOYALTY 

When  courage  fails,  and  faith,  burns  low, 

And  men  are  timid  grown, 
Hold  fast  thy  loyalty,  and  know 

That  Truth  still  moveth  on. 

For  unseen  messengers  she  hath 

To  work  her  will  and  ways, 
And  even  human  scorn  and  wrath 

God  turneth  to  her  praise. 

She  can  both  meek  and  lordly  be, 

In  heavenly  might  secure  ; 
With  her  is  pledge  of  victory, 

And  patience  to  endure. 

The  race  is  not  unto  the  swift, 

The  battle  to  the  strong, 
When  dawn  her  judgment-days  that  sift 

The  claims  of  right  and  wrong. 


48  LOYALTY 

And  more  than  thou  canst  do  for  Truth 

Can  she  on  thee  confer, 
If  thou.  0  heart,  but  give  thy  youth 

And  manhood  unto  her. 

For  she  can  make  thee  inly  bright, 

Thy  self-love  purge  away, 
And  lead  thee  in  the  path  whose  light 

Shines  to  the  perfect  day. 

Who  follow  her,  though  men  deride, 
In  her  strength  shall  be  strong ; 

Shall  see  their  shame  become  their  pride, 
And  share  her  triumph-song  ! 

1881 


PASSING    UNDERSTANDING 

'  The  peace  of  God,  that  passeth  all  understanding.* 

Many  things  in  life  there  are 
Past  our  '  understanding '  far, 
And  the  humblest  flower  that  grows 
Hides  a  secret  no  man  knows. 

All  unread  by  outer  sense 
Lies  the  souPs  experience  ; 
Mysteries  around  us  rise, 
We,  the  deeper  mysteries  ! 

Who  hath  scales  to  weigh  the  love 
That  from  heart  to  heart  doth  move, 
The  divine  unrest  within, 
Or  the  keen  remorse  for  sin  ? 

Who  can  map  those  tracks  of  light 
Where  the  fancy  wings  its  flight, 
Or  to  outer  vision  trace 
Thought's  mysterious  dwelling-place  ? 
4 


50         PASSING    UNDERSTANDING 

Who  can  sound  the  silent  sea 
Where,  with  sealed  orders,  we 
Voyage  from  birth's  forgotten  shore 
Toward  the  unknown  land  before  ? 

While  we  may  so  little  scan 
Of  thy  vast  creation's  plan, 
Teach  us,  O  our  God,  to  be 
Humble  in  our  walk  with  thee  ! 

May  we  trust,  through  ill  and  good, 
Thine  unchanging  Fatherhood, 
And  our  highest  wisdom  find 
In  the  reverent  heart  and  mind  ! 

Clearer  vision  shall  be  ours, 
Larger  wisdom,  ampler  powers, 
And  the  meaning  yet  appear 
Of  what  passes  knowledge  here. 

1885 


THE  SUNNY  SIDE 

A  silvery  tide,  called  '  Sunny  Side/ 

G-oes  creeping  around  the  earth, 
And  never  a  place  but  wins  a  grace 

In  the  jubilant  flood  of  mirth, 
From   the   dancing   gleam    on    the    fretted 
stream 

To  the  dimple  on  baby's  cheek, 
That  in  and  out,  to  his  merry  shout, 

Twinkles  a  hide-and-seek. 

Wherever  it  goes,  the  darkness  glows 

And  men  and  women  sing  ; 
It  fills  their  eyes  with  a  glad  surprise, 

And  stays  their  sorrowing  ; 
The  heart  is  a-tune,  the  world  is  June, 

Nothing  is  old  or  gray, 
As  it  passes  along  with  the  swell  of  a  song, 

Like  a  musical  break  of  day. 


52  THE  SUNNY  SIDE 

Spirit  of  Love,  in  the  blue  above 

Who  makest  the  sun  to  flame, 
Who  guidest  the  flight  of  the  planet  bright, 

And  callest  the  stars  by  name, 
It  is  thou  dost  hide  in  the  '  Sunny  Side/ 

And  creepest  from  heart  to  heart ! 
And,  soul  or  clod,  we  share  the  God, 

Who  comes,  —  and  the  shadows  part ! 

1875 


FLOWER  SUNDAY 

The  rose  is  queen  among  the  flowers, 

None  other  is  so  fair  : 
The  lily  nodding  on  her  stem 

With  fragrance  fills  the  air. 
But  sweeter  than  the  lily's  breath 

And  than  the  rose  more  fair, 
The  tender  love  of  human  hearts 

That  springe th  everywhere. 

The  rose  will  fade  and  fail  away, 

The  lily  too  will  die  : 
But  love  shall  live  for  evermore 

Beyond  the  starry  sky. 
Then  sweeter  than  the  lily's  breath 

And  than  the  rose  more  fair, 
The  tender  love  of  human  hearts 

Upspringing  everywhere. 

1875 


THE  LITTLE  ONES 

Children's  Sunday 

All  hidden  lie  the  future  ways 
Their  little  feet  shall  fare  ; 

But  holy  thoughts  within  us  stir 
And  rise  on  lips  of  prayer. 

To  us  beneath  the  noonday  heat, 
Dust-stained  and  travel- worn, 

How  beautiful  their  robes  of  white, 
The  freshness  of  their  morn  ! 

Within  us  wakes  the  childlike  heart, 
Back  rolls  the  tide  of  years  ; 

The  silent  wells  of  memory  start 
And  flow  in  happy  tears. 

0  little  ones,  ye  cannot  know 
The  power  with  which  ye  plead, 

Nor  why,  as  on  through  life  we  go, 
The  little  child  doth  lead. 


1885 


CHRISTMAS 

Still  the  angels  sing  on  high, 
Still  the  bearded  men  draw  nigh, 
Bringing  worship  with  the  morn, 
When  a  little  child  is  born  ; 
Baby-glory  in  the  place, 
Star-look  on  the  mother's  face, 
Psalm  within  the  mother's  heart,  — 
Christmas  all  in  counterpart  ! 

Quaintest  wight  that  ever  stirred, 
With  thy  ears  that  never  heard, 
Eyes  that  eye  a  brand-new  world, 
Tiny  limbs  but  half  uncurled, 
Wee-bit  Adam !  wee-bit  Christ ! 
Earth,  by  thee  new-paradised, 
Blooms  to  miracles  again, 
Echoes  God's  '  Good- will  to  men  ! ' 


56  CHRISTMAS 

Blessings  on  the  little  child 
In  the  cave  far-off  and  wild  ! 
For  that  nursery  divine 
Tells  me  well,  0  baby  mine, 
That  thou  art  Emmanuel, 
*  God  with  us,y  come  here  to  dwell,  - 
Come  to  say,  f  Since  time  began, 
Son  of  God  is  Son  of  Man.' 

1875 


THE  CHILDREN'S  SERVICE 

From  the  German  of  Karl  GeroTc 

The  church-bells  for  service  are  ringing, 
The  father  and  mother  have  gone  ; 

And  three  little  golden-haired  children 
Are  left  in  the  doorway  alone. 

For  these  are  too  young  for  the  meeting  — 
The  busy  and  frolicsome  elves  — 

So  they  think  to  praise  God  like  their  elders 
With  a  holy-tirne  all  by  themselves  ! 

Each  one  a  big  volume  has  taken 

And  holds  it  top-down  'gainst  the  breast ; 

Forthwith  the  devout  little  mimics 
Sing  out  in  their  loudest  and  best  ! 

They  know  not  themselves   what  they  're 
singing, 

And  each  takes  a  tune  of  his  own  :  — 
Sing  on,  0  ye  children,  your  voices 

Are  heard  at  the  heavenlv  throne  ! 


58  THE   CHILDREN'S  SERVICE 

And  there  stand  your  angels  in  glory, 
While  songs  to  the  Father  they  raise, 

Who  out  of  the  mouths  of  the  children 
Hath  perfected  worship  and  praise. 

Sing  on  ;  over  there  in  the  garden 
There  singeth  an  answering  choir  ; 

'T  is  the  brood  of  light-hearted  birdlings 
That  chirp  in  the  bloom-laden  brier. 

Sing  on  ;  there  is  trust  in  your  music,  — 
The  Father,  he  asks  not  for  more  ; 

Quick  flieth  the  heart  that  is  sinless 
Like  a  dove  to  the  heavenly  door. 

Sing  on  ;  we  sing  who  are  older, 
Yet  little  we  too  understand  : 

And  our  Bibles,  how  often  we  hold  them 
The  bottom-side  up  in  our  hand  ! 

Sing  on  ;  in  the  songs  of  our  service 
We  follow  each  note  of  the  card  ; 

But  alas,  in  our  strife  with  each  other 
How  oft  is  the  melody  marred ! 


THE  CHILDREN'S  SERVICE  59 

Sing  on  ;  for  earth's  loftiest  music 
Though  ever  so  fine  and  so  clear, 

What  is  it  ?     The  lisping  of  children, 
A  breath  in  the  Infinite  ear ! 


1877 


JESUS    WHO? 

'  The  other  day  I  told  my  very  little  daughter,  answering 
a  question  of  hers,  that  a  certain  picture  was  Jesus.  "  Jesus 
who  ? "  said  she  —  * '  Jesus  God  ?  " ' 

And  are  the  children  prophets,  then, 

Or  have  they  lived  before, 
To  speak  the  words  so  simple-wise, 

And  babble  spirit-lore  ? 

Their  wonder  plays  on  questions  quaint, 

All  vision  and  surprise, 
Like  clumsy  gates  whose  careless  swing 

Reveals  half  Paradise. 


Yes,  little  May,  you  Ve  said  it,  — 
'  God J  is  his  other  name  ; 

Ours  always  ends  with  Father's  ; 
Yours  is  the  very  same. 


JESUS   WHO?  61 

Our  earth  is  one  home  only, 

Our  Father  only  one, 
And  all  the  folks  are  brothers, 

And  every  one  his  son. 

And  up  and  down  the  city 
Wherever  you  have  trod,        , 

It 's  Mary-,  Maud-,  and  Katy-, 
John-God,  and  Willie-God. 


0  Life  and  Love,  in  whom  we  are, 
From  whom,  to  whom  all  lives, 

1  thank  thee  for  the  christening 
Thy  little  prophet  gives. 

The  simple  Bible  long  ago 

Hinted  the  secret  well, 
When  child-faith  named  its  hero-babes, 

1  Judah '  and  '  Israel.' l 

Why  strangely  sounds  the  name  divine 
Blending  with  ours  to-day  ? 

Is  God  an  ancient  lost  afar, 
A  fashion  gone  for  aye  1 

1  '  Judah,'  L  e.,  Praise  God :  '  Israel,'  i.  e.,  God  strives. 


JESUS   WHO? 

Ah,  no,  but  thought  too  awful  grows 
For  name  or  speech  or  look  : 

In  silent  floods  the  secret  pours 
That  babbled  in  the  brook. 


1871 


CHRISTMAS 

To-day  be  joy  in  every  heart, 

For  lo,  the  angel  throng 
Once  more  above  the  listening  earth 

Repeats  the  advent  song  : 

1  Peace  on  the  earth,  good-will  to  men  ! ' 

Before  us  goes  the  star 
That  leads  us  on  to  holier  births 

And  life  diviner  far  ! 

Ye  men  of  strife,  forget  to-day 
Your  harshness  and  your  hate  ; 

Too  long  ye  stay  the  promised  years 
For  which  the  nations  wait  ! 

And  ye  upon  the  tented  field, 

Sheathe,  sheathe  to-day  the  sword  ! 

By  love,  and  not  by  might,  shall  come 
The  kingdom  of  the  Lord. 


64  CHRISTMAS 

0  star  of  human  faith  and  hope  ! 

Tby  light  shall  lead  us  on, 
Until  it  fades  in  morning's  glow, 

And  heaven  on  earth  is  won. 

1877 


JESUS 

Immortal  by  their  deed  and  word, 
Like  light  around  them  shed, 

Still  speak  the  prophets  of  the  Lord, 
Still  live  the  sainted  dead. 

The  voice  of  old  by  Jordan's  flood 

Yet  floats  upon  the  air  ; 
We  hear  it  in  beatitude, 

In  parable  and  prayer. 

And  still  the  beauty  of  that  life 
Shines  star-like  on  our  way, 

And  breathes  its  calm  amid  the  strife 
And  burden  of  to-day. 

Earnest  of  life  forevermore, 

That  life  of  duty  here,  — 
The  trust  that  in  the  darkest  hour 

Looked  forth  and  knew  no  fear  ! 
5 


66  JESUS 

Spirit  of  Jesus,  still  speed  on  ! 

Speed  on  thy  conquering  way, 
Till  every  heart  the  Father  own, 

And  all  his  will  obey  I 

1S80 


THE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD 

Praise  to  God  and  thanksgiving ! 
Hearts,  bow  down,  and  voices,  sing  ! 
Praises  to  the  Glorious  One, 
All  his  year  of  wonder  done ! 

Praise  him  for  his  budding  green, 
April's  resurrection-scene  : 
Praise  him  for  his  shining  hours, 
Starring  all  the  land  with  flowers  : 

Praise  him  for  his  summer  rain, 
Feeding,  day  and  night,  the  grain  : 
Praise  him  for  his  tiny  seed, 
Holding  all  his  world  shall  need ! 

Praise  him  for  his  garden  root, 
Meadow  grass  and  orchard  fruit : 
Praise  for  hills  and  valleys  broad,  — 
Each  the  Table  of  the  Lord ! 


68  THE  YEAR  OF   THE  LORD 

Praise  him  now  for  snowy  rest, 
Falling  soft  on  Nature's  breast : 
Praise  for  happy  dreams  of  birth 
Brooding  in  the  quiet  earth  ! 

For  his  year  of  wonder  done, 
Praise  to  the  All-Glorious  One  ! 
Hearts,  bow  down,  and  voices,  sing 
Praise  and  love  and  thanksgiving  ! 

Harvest  Festival,  St.  Paul,  1882 


1 


THE  NEW  YEAR 

I  Behold,'  —  in  vision  said 
The  Voice  to  John  on  Patmos  — 

I I  make  all  things  new  ! ' 
"Vanish  before  his  view 
The  earth  and  heavens  old ; 
In  splendor  manifold 

New  heavens  and  earth  appear 

To  the  enraptured  seer: 

And  lo  !  descending  from  the  skies, 

Fairer  than  storied  paradise, 

He  saw  the  New  Jerusalem,  — 

Apparelled  as  a  bride 

With  gold  and  precious  gem,  — 

And  heard  a  Voice  that  cried  : 

1  God's  dwelling  is  with  men, 

And  he  will  wipe  away  all  tears, 

And  death  shall  be  no  more,  nor  pain  ; 


70  THE  NEW  YEAR 

Passed  are  the  things  of  former  years  : 

Behold,  I  make  all  things  new  ! 

Write :  for  faithful  are  these  words  and  true.' 

So  speaks  to  thee,  O  heart, 

As  the  swift  years  depart 

The  re-creating  Voice. 

Turn  not  in  vain  regret 

To  thy  fond  yesterdays, 

But  rather  forward  set 

Thy  face  toward  the  untrodden  ways. 

Open  thine  eyes  to  see 

The  good  in  store  for  thee,  — 

New  love,  new  thought,  new  service  too 

For  him  who  daily  maketh  thy  life  new. 

Nor  think  thou  aught  is  lost 

Or  left  behind  upon  the  silent  coast 

Of  thy  spent  years  ; 

Give  o'er  thy  faithless  fears. 

Whate'er  of  real  good  — 

Of  thought,  or  deed,  or  holier  mood  — 

Thy  life  hath  known 

ALideth  still  thine  own, 

And  hath  within  significance 


THE  NEW  YEAR  71 

Of  more  than  Time's  inheritance. 

Thy  good  is  prophecy 

Of  better  still  to  be. 

In  the  future  thou  shalt  find 

How  far  the  Fact  hath  left  behind 

Thy  fondest  Dream ;  how  deeper  than  all 
sense 

Or  thought  of  thine,  thy  life's  sure  Provi- 
dence ! 

1881 


THE  DAY 

Routine  of  duties, 
Commonplace  cares,  — 

Angels  disguised 

Entertained  unawares  ;  — 

Sweet  human  fellowships 

Kindred  and  near, 
Drawing  the  soul  from 

Its  self  atmosphere ; 

The  book's  friendly  company, 

Leading  along 
To  fields  of  new  knowledge 

And  uplands  of  song  ; 

In-shinings  of  Nature, 

Morning's  red  bars, 
Waysides  in  beauty, 

Night  with  its  stars  ; 


THE  DAY  73 

The  nearer  communion 

In  silence  apart, 
When  thought  blooms  to  prayer 

And  song  fills  the  heart, 

While  the  things  unseen 

Grow  more  and  more  real, 
And  life  deepens  and  broadens 

Toward  larger  ideal :  — 

How  many  the  blessings 

Each  day  has  to  give 
The  soul  that  is  seeking 

Truly  to  live ! 


1885 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE  LORD 

God  ploughed  one  day  with  an  earthquake, 

And  drove  his  furrows  deep  ! 
The  huddling  plains  upstarted, 

The  hills  were  all  a-leap  ! 

But  that  is  the  mountain's  secret, 

Age-hidden  in  their  breast ; 
1  God's  peace  is  everlasting,' 

Are  the  dream- words  of  their  rest. 

He  hath  made  them  the  haunt  of  beauty, 

The  home  elect  of  his  grace  ; 
He  spreadeth  his  mornings  on  them, 

His  sunsets  light  their  face. 

His  thunders  tread  in  music 

Of  footfalls  echoing  long, 
And  carry  majestic  greeting 

Around  the  silent  throng. 


THE  HILLS  OF   THE  LORD        75 

His  winds  bring  messages  to  them, 
"Wild  storm-news  from  the  main  ; 

They  sing  it  down  to  the  valleys 
In  the  love-song  of  the  rain. 

Green  tribes  from  far  come  trooping, 
And  over  the  uplands  flock  ; 

He  weaveth  the  zones  together 
In  robes  for  his  risen  rock. 

They  are  nurseries  for  young  rivers  ; 

Nests  for  his  flying  cloud ; 
Homesteads  for  new-born  races, 

Masterful,  free,  and  proud. 

The  people  of  tired  cities 

Come  up  to  their  shrines  and  pray  ; 
God  freshens  again  within  them, 

As  he  passes  by  all  day. 

And  lo,  I  have  caught  their  secret, 

The  beauty  deeper  than  all, 
This  faith,  —  that  life's  hard  moments, 

When  the  jarring  sorrows  befall, 


76  THE  HILLS  OF    THE  LORD 

Are  but  God  ploughing  his  mountains  ; 

And  the  mountains  yet  shall  be 
The  source  of  his  grace  and  freshness 

And  his  peace  everlasting  to  me. 

Whitefield,  1S70 


SUNDAY  ON  THE  HILL-TOP 

Only  ten  miles  from  the  city,  — 
And  how  I  am  lifted  away 

To  the  peace  that  passeth  knowing, 
And  the  light  that  is  not  of  day ! 

All  alone  on  the  hill-top ! 

Nothing  but  God  and  me, 
And  the  spring-time's  resurrection, 

Far  shillings  of  the  sea, 

The  river's  laugh  in  the  valley, 
Hills  dreaming  of  their  past ; 

And  all  things  silently  opening, 
Opening  into  the  Yast ! 

Eternities  past  and  future 
Seem  clinging  to  all  I  see, 

And  things  immortal  cluster 
Around  my  bended  knee. 


78      SUNDAY  ON  THE  HILL- TOP 

That  pebble  —  is  older  than  Adam  ! 

Secrets  it  hath  to  tell ; 
These  rocks  —  they  cry  out  history, 

Could  I  but  listen  well. 

That  pool  knows  the  ocean-feeling 
Of  storm  and  moon-led  tide  ; 

The  sun  finds  its  East  and  West  therein, 
And  the  stars  find  room  to  glide. 

That  lichen's  crinkled  circle 
Creeps  with  the  Life  Divine, 

Where  the  Holy  Spirit  loitered 
On  its  way  to  this  face  of  mine,  — 

On  its  way  to  the  shining  faces 

Where  angel-lives  are  led, 
And  I  am  the  lichen's  circle 

That  creeps  with  the  tiny  tread. 

I  can  hear  these  violets  chorus 
To  the  sky's  benediction  above:  — 

And  we  all  are  together  lying 
On  the  bosom  of  Infinite  Love. 


SUNDAY  ON   THE  HILL-TOP       \ 

I  —  I  am  a  part  of  the  poem, 
Of  its  every  sight  and  sound  ; 

For  my  heart  beats  inward  rhymings 
To  the  Sabbath  that  lies  around. 

Oh,  the  peace  at  the  heart  of  Nature  ! 

Oh,  the  light  that  is  not  of  day ! 
Why  seek  it  afar  forever, 

When  it  cannot  be  lifted  away  ? 

Blue  Hill,  May  21, 1871 


THE  CATHEDRAL 

Shelf  over  shelf  the  mountain  rose  ; 
And,  as  we  climbed,  they  seemed  the  stair 
That  scales  a  minster's  wall  to  seek 
Some  high-hid  cell  of  prayer. 

But  every  stair  was  carpeted 
With  mosses  soft  of  gray  and  green, 
And  gold  and  crimson  arabesques 
Trailed  in  and  out  between. 

Up,  up,  o'er  ferny  pavements  still, 
O'er  dim  mosaics  of  the  wood, 
O'er  rocky  terraces,  we  trod, 
Till  on  the  height  we  stood. 

About  the  ancient  mountain- walls 
The  silent  wildernesses  clung  ; 
In  solemn  frescos,  moving  slow, 
The  clouds  their  shadows  flung. 


THE   CATHEDRAL  81 

Along  the  valley-deeps  below 
The  shimmer  of  a  forest  floor,  — 
A  leafy  brightness,  like  the  sea, 
Wide  twinkling  o'er  and  o'er. 

Niched  in  the  mighty  minster,  we, 
Beneath  the  dome  of  radiant  blue  : 
Cathedral-hush  on  every  side, 
And  worship  breathing  through ! 

There  came  wild  music  on  the  winds, 
The  chanting  of  the  forest  choir, 
Shaken  across  the  ranged  hills 
As  over  a  chorded  lyre. 

Then  pauses  as  for  quiet  prayer, 
And  lulls,  in  which  the  listeners  heard 
Home- voices  speak,  while  faces  neared 
Swifter  than  any  bird. 

Of  Strength  eternal,  by  whose  will 
The  hills  their  steadfast  places  keep, 
Whose  Eight  is  like  the  mountains  high, 
Whose  Judgments  are  a  deep,  — 
6 


82  THE  CATHEDRAL 

In  grand  old  Bible  verse  we  spoke, 
And  following  close  like  echoes  sped 
The  poems  best  beloved.     The  words 
Along  the  silence  fled. 

The  Silence,  awful  Living  Word 
Behind  all  sound,  behind  all  thought, 
Whose  speech  is  Nature-yet-to-be, 
The  Poem  yet  un wrought! 

That  day  it  spake  within  the  soul, 
Through  sense  all  strangely  blent  with  sense: 
The  vision  took  majestic  rhythm,  — 
We  heard  the  firmaments  ! 

And  listened,  time  and  space  forgot, 
As  flowed  the  lesson  for  the  day,  — 
f  Order  is  Beauty  ;  Law  is  Love ; 
Childlike  his  worlds  obey.' 

And  all  the  heaven  seemed  folding  down 
Above  the  shining  earth's  sweet  face, 
Till  in  our  hearts  they  touched !     We  felt 
The  thrill  of  their  embrace. 


THE   CATHEDRAL  83 

Then,  in  its  peace,  we  wandered  down 
Our  rocky  staircase  from  the  height  ; 
On  dim  mosaics  of  the  wood 
We  met  the  climbing  Night. 

Sunday  on  '  Bald  Cap,'  September,  1876 


THE   PAST 

For  us  no  Past  ?    Nay,  what  is  present  sweet- 
ness 
But  yesterdays  dissolving  in  to-day  ? 
No  Past  ?    It  flowers  in  every  new  complete- 
ness, 
And  scarce  from  eye  and  ear  can  hide  away. 

These  berries,  mottling  blue  the  rocky  hol- 
lows, 
Still  cluster  with  the  blossom-trick  of  June  ; 
The  cloud-led  shadow  loiters  there  and  fol- 
lows 
O'er  crags  sun-stained  by  centuries  of  noon ; 
Yon  aged  pine  waves  young  defiant  gesture 
When  hustling  winds  pant  by  in  wild  sea- 
mood  ; 
The  valley's  grace  in  all  its  shining  vesture,  — 
Ages  have  carved  it  from  the  solitude ; 


THE  PAST  85 

Low  sings  the  stream  in  murmurs  faint  re- 
calling 
The  chant  of  floods  the  solitude  once  heard; 
And  this  wide  quiet  on  the  hill-tops  falling 
Made  hush  at  eves  that    listener  never 
stirred. 

And  as  on  us  it  falls,  our  laughter  stilling, 

Dim  echoes  cross  it  of  all  old  delight ! 
The  joy,  along  the  soul's  far  reaches  thrilling 

To  glory  of  the  summer  day  and  night, 
Has  been  inwrought  by  many  a  summer-hour 

Of  past  selves  long  forgot,  —  enrichment 
slow, 
Attuning  mind  and  heart  with  mystic  power 

To  the  fresh  marvel  of  this  sunset's  glow. 
I  think  we  see  our  valley's  brightness  brighter 

For  faces  that  once  brightened  by  our  side  ; 
The  peace  of  the  eternal  mountains  deepens 

At  thought  of  peace  on  faces  that  have  died. 

For  us  no  Past  ?    Nay,  what  is  present  sweet- 
ness ] 
Dear  yesterdays  dissolving  in  to-day ! 


86  THE  PAST 

The  Past  —  it  flowers  in  every  new  complete- 
ness 
Of  thought,  faith,  hope  ;  and  so  shall  be  for 
aye. 

Sunset  on  !  Crow  Nest,'  August,  1875 


SUMMER  CHEMISTRY 

What  does  it  take 

A  day  to  make, — 

A  day  at  the  Bear  Camp  Ossipee  ? 

White  clouds  a-sail  in  the  shining  blue, 

Dropping  a  shadow  to  dredge  the  lands ; 

A  mountain-wind,  and  a  marching  storm, 

And  a  sound  in  the  trees  like  waves   on 

sands ; 
A  mist  to  soften  the  shaggy  side 
Of  the  great  green  hill,  till  it  lies  as  dim 
As  the  hills  in  a  childhood  memory ; 
The  crags  and  the  ledges  silver-chased, 
Where  yesterday's  rainy  runlets  raced  ; 
The  back  of  an  upland  pasture  steep, 
With  delicate  fern-beds  notching  wide 
The  dark  wood-line  where  the  birches  keep 
Candlemas  all  the  summer-tide  ; 
Brown-flashing  across  the  meadow  bright 
The  stream  that  gems  its  malachite; 
And,  watching  his  valley,  Chocorua  grim, 
And  a  golden  sunset  watching  him ! 


88  SUMMER  CHEMISTRY 

Add  —  fifty  lives  of  young  and  old, 
Of  tired  and  sad,  of  strong  and  bold, 
And  every  heart  a  deeper  sea 
Than  its  own  owner  dreams  can  be  ; . 
Add  eyes  whose  glances  have  the  law 
Of  coursing  planets  in  their  draw  ; 
Add  careless  hands  that  touch  and  part, 
And  hands  that  greet  with  a  heaven's  sense  ; 
Add  little  children  in  their  glee 
Uprunning  to  a  mother's  knee, 
Their  earliest  altar  ;  add  her  heart, 
Their  feeble,  brooding  Providence  :  — 

Add  this  to  that,  and  thou  shalt  see 

What  goes  to  summer  chemistry, — 

What  the  God  takes, 

Each  time  he  makes 

One  summer-day  at  Ossipee. 

Bear  Camp  River  House,  West  Ossipee, 
August,  1877 


WHERE  DID  IT  GO? 

Where  did  yesterday's  sunset  go, 
When  it  faded  down  the  hills  so  slow, 
And  the  gold  grew  dim,  and  the  purple  light 
Like  an  army  with  banners   passed  from 

sight  ? 
Will  its  flush  go  into  the  golden-rod, 
Its  thrill  to  the  purple  aster's  nod, 
Its  crimson  fleck  the  maple-bough, 
And  the  Autumn-glory  begin  from  now  ? 

Deeper  than  flower-fields  sank  the  glow 
Of  the  silent  pageant  passing  slow. 

It  flushed  all  night  in  many  a  dream, 
It  thrilled  in  the  folding  hush  of  prayer, 
It  glided  into  a  poet's  song, 
It  is  setting  still  in  a  picture  rare  ; 


90  WHERE  DID  IT  GO  ? 

It  changed  by  the  miracle  none  can  see 
To  the  shifting  lights  of  a  symphony  ; 
And  in  resurrections  of  faith  and  hope 
The  glory  died  on  the  shining  slope. 

For  it  left  its  light  on  the  hills  and  seas 
That  rim  a  thousand  memories. 

West  Ossipee,  1877 


RECOGNITION 

Twice  have  I  turned  to  hear  a  tone, 

And  thrice  have  I  seen  a  look, 
That  tell  me  well  the  soul  that  I  love 

Is  to  me  but  a  sealed  book. 

'T  was  only  the  name  of  her  little  child, 
And  a  '  Darling  ! '  one  day  as  she  kissed ; 

But  twice  those  household  words  wrere  strains 
Out  of  exquisite  music  missed. 

I  remember  the  raptured  hour  she  stood 

With  love-light  haloing  her, 
When  her  lips  were  dim  in  the  crimson  tides 

From  the  deeps  of  joy  astir  : 

And  once,  'mid  the  pain  of  farewell  tears 

For  an  exile  seaward  doomed, 
How  her  form  upreached  like  a  quivering 
stem 

And  a  new  face  suddenly  bloomed  : 


92  RECOGNITION 

And  then,  a  day  in  a  shaded  room, 
A  day  in  the  valley  of  Death  ;  — 

She  must  journey  and  wrestle  alone,  —  and 
we, 
"We  waited  with  bated  breath, 

Until  the  radiant  marvel  broke 

Of  her  resurrection-face, 
And  the  weary  eyes,  her  victory  won, 

So  peacefully  filled  with  grace. 

Three  days  that  star-look  on  us  beamed, 
And  the  bed  was  a  holy  shrine, 

Where  soft  we   worshipped   the  new-born 
Child 
O'erhung  by  the  Mother's  sign  ! 

Slowly  it  faded,  and  welcome  grew 
For  the  old  dear  eyes  returned,  — 

The  light  of  our  home,  but  not  the  eyes 
Where  the  angel-look  had  burned. 


Do  you  wonder  an  awe  enfolds  my  love 
For  the  presence  with  whom  1  dwell,  — 

My  inmost  friend,  but  a  stranger  too, 
Whom  I  know  not  over  well  ? 


RECOGNITION  93 

Her  soul  to  me  is  an  Upper  Land, 

Where  mornings  rise  unseen 
On  pathless  mountain-mysteries 

And  dells  of  hidden  green. 

I  am  so  glad  of  her  gardens  sweet 

Too  sacred  for  me  to  walk, 
So  glad  of  the  sunlit  heights  too  far 

To  echo  our  mingled  talk  ! 

And  I  try  to  climb  and  listen  and  watch  ; 

For  may  be  the  sense  will  grow, 
Till  into  her  loneliness  I  may  press 

And  all  of  her  sweetness  know ! 


A  marvel !     But  what  if  there  be  a  truth 

Passing  in  wonder  this  ? 
Can  she  be  to  herself  as  dim,  unknown, 

And  the  best  of  her  nature  miss  ? 

Can  there  be  in  us  all  those  heights  of  will 
And  shadowy  deeps  of  thought, 

A  land  in  the  heart  of  each  one's  life 
"With  self-surprises  fraught,  — 


94  RECOGNITION 

Whither,  in  sudden  mystical  hours 
When  the  conscious  self  is  forgot, 

We  are  rapt  as  into  an  upper  self, 
And  stand  in  the  light  of  a  spot, 

Where  are  born  those  exquisite  tones  that 
stray- 
To  startle  the  common  days, 

And  the  look  that  heralds  our  angel-smile 
Dawns  into  our  eyes  and  ways  ? 

Only  a  minute,  —  and  then  we  are  back 

In  the  meadows  far  below, 
Where  the  life-winds  sweep  and  the  life- 
streams  run, 

And  nought  of  their  source  we  know ! 

I  verily  think  that  she  I  love 

Would  hardly  a  meaning  trace, 
Should  I  speak  to  her  of  that  twice-heard 
tone 

And  the  thrice-illumined  face. 

1872 


IN  A  LOOK 

All  the  Morning  in  a  face,  — 
Freshness  of  all  happy  space  ! 
Sense  of  snnrise  in  a  sky 
Serious  still  with  stars  gone  by ; 
Sense  of  song  in  waking  woods, 
Winds  a-laugh  in  solitudes, 
Dawn  surprising  dewy  fields, 
Springing  sounds  as  slumber  yields, 
Breaths  of  prayer,  the  rush  of  wings, 
Morning,  deep  with  happy  things  ! 


Summer  Twilight  in  a  face  ! 
Evening  shadows  stilling  space  ; 
Two  stars  in  a  silent  sky ; 
After- calm,  —  a  sun  gone  by ; 
Wood-paths  darkening,  bird-song  closing, 
Flowers  on  their  stems  reposing  ; 


96  IN  A  LOOK 

Widening,  widening,  from  the  grass 
Rhythmic  tides  of  music  pass,  — 
Pass  within,  and  hush  the  streams, 
Whose  thought-babble  dies  in  dreams  1 


These  before  me  seem  to  rise, 
When  they  look  me  in  the  eyes. 


1885 


THE  FIFTIETH  ANNIVERSARY 

W.    H.   F. 

Fifty  times  the  years  have  turned, 
Since  the  heart  within  him  burned 
With  its  wistfulness  to  be 
An  apostle  sent  of  thee. 

Closely  in  his  Master's  tread 
Still  to  follow,  till  he  read 
Tone  of  voice  and  look  of  face, 
Print  of  wound  and  sign  of  grace. 

Reading  there  for  fifty  years, 
Pressing  after,  till  the  tears 
And  the  smiles  would  come  and  go 
At  the  self-same  joy  and  woe, — 

Sharing  with  him  shouts  of  '  Mad  ! ' 
When  the  bold  front  to  the  bad 
Bent  to  pluck  the  ' little  ones' 
From  the  feet  of  fellow-sons,  — 
7 


98     THE  FIFTIETH  ANNIVERSARY 

Sharing  in  his  inner  peace, 
Sharing  all  but  his  release,  — 
He  is  with  us  while  the  chimes 
Ring  our  blessing  fifty  times. 

Listening  boys  across  the  field 
Hear,  and  hope  they  may  not  yield  : 
Are  they  listening  from  the  air,  — 
Boys  who  started  with  him  there  1 

Philadelphia,  1875 


THE  TEACHER 

G.   R.   N. 

A  light  upon  the  harvest-field, 
A  '  Well-done  ! '  in  the  air  : 

'  Rest- Angel,  only  iveary  yield  ! ' 
Rose  up  his  eager  prayer. 

Again  in  work  went  by  the  day, 
Till  working  hands  grew  thin  ; 

Once  more  the  restful  shining  lay,  — 
The  old  man  entered  in. 

A  teacher  he,  in  white-haired  youth  ; 

The  body's  cloister,  old,  — 
The  spirit  growing  young  with  Truth 

Through  birthdays  manifold. 

A  teacher  he  of  oracles, 
And  one  his  life  did  sing  : 

Tlie  field  lies  always  Harvest-white, 
If  inly  lies  the  Spring. 

Cambridge,  1868 


THE  CLIFF  AT  NEWPORT 

I  walk  the  Cliff,  in  earlier  days  oft  trod 
By  one  whose  advent  brought  new  life  to 

men  ; 
A  prophet  of  the  soul,  speaking  again 
To  earth-bound  hearts  of  the  deep  things  of 

God. 
Below,  the  passionate  sea  still  beats  in  vain, 
And  white   sails  gleam  along  the  horizon 

broad  ; 
The  same  sky  bends   above  —  beneath,  the 

sod 
As  then  is  freshened  by  the  Summer  rain. 
But,  interfused  with  all,  there  shines  to-day 
A  beauty  born  not  of  the  earth  or  skies, 
Making  twice  fair  what  was  so  fair  before  : 
'T  is  that  a  noble  Soul  has  passed  this  way, 
Leaving  a  holy  memory  to  rise 
And  speak  to  thought  and  feeling  evermore. 

1884 


IN  SLEEP 

L.   N.    R. 

'  He  giveth  his  beloved  (in)  sleep.' 

Not  in  our  waking  hours  alone 
His  constancy  and  care  are  known  ; 
But  locked  in  slumber  fast  and  deep 
He  giveth  to  us  while  we  sleep. 

"What  giveth  He  1     From  toil  release, 
Quiet  from  God,  night's  starlit  peace  ; 
Till  with  the  coming  of  the  morn 
We  greet  the  day,  like  it  new-born. 

And  pondering  this  mystery, 
There  came  a  larger  truth  to  me,  — 
How  in  the  sleep  that  we  call  death 
He  sleepeth  not  nor  slumbereth, 

But  still  sustains  the  silent  soul 
Until  the  shadows  backward  roll, 
And  with  the  passing  of  the  night 
It  wakens  in  immortal  light ! 


102  IN  SLEEP 

What  giveth  He  ?     No  more  again 
To  know  the  touch  of  mortal  pain ; 
All  weakness  past,  each  fetter  riven,  — 
For  earth  the  larger  life  of  heaven  ! 

Dear  friend,  as  o'er  thy  pallid  face 
The  tall  white  lilies  breathed  their  peace, 
And  stillness  like  a  solitude 
Enwrapt  the  tearful  multitude, 

How  sweetly  on  that  sea  of  calm 
Floated  the  music  of  the  psalm,  — 
The  Spirit's  voice  upon  the  deep,  — 
*  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep  ! ' 

Once  more  the  sun  with  lavish  hand 
Pours  lengthening  day  along  the  land  ; 
But  not  with  spring-time  bloom  and  bird 
Thy  smile  returns,  thy  voice  is  heard  : 

Yet  still  we  say  the  old-time  words 
'  In  life,  in  death,  we  are  the  Lord's  :  ' 
And  trust  thee  to  his  love  to  keep 
Who  giveth  to  his  own  in  sleep. 

March  16,  1S77 


MINISTRY 

E.   A.    B. 

Just   on  the  threshold  of   threescore-and- 
ten  — 
An  upward  pathway,   shining   more   and 

more  — 
She  heard  the  call,  and  passed  within  the 
door 
Whence  none  that  enters  ever  comes  again. 
Henceforth  will  Want  await  her  step  in  vain, 
Wise  Charity  will  have  a  lessened  store  : 
The  beatings  of  a  faithful  heart  are  o'er, 
And  struggling  Truth  has  lost  a  loyal  brain. 
Ah,   foolish   plaint!      Hath   God   no   other 
sphere 
For  virtue's  use,  and  love,  and  loyalty, 
That  they  should  perish  with  the  body's 
breath  ? 
0  noble  Friend,  thy  life's  long  service  here 
Thou  crownest  now  with  its  best  ministry, 
And  quickenest  faith  beside  the   door  of 

death  ! 
November,  1879 


THE   MINISTER'S  JOURNEY 

Not  to  the  lanes  of  England, 
Cathedral-aisles  of  France, 

Or  np  the  mountain-hollows 
Where  Alpine  torrents  glance ; 

Not  in  the  storied  cities 
And  old  highways  of  life, 

Where  shadowy  generations 
Have  passed  in  song  and  strife  ; 

Where  Raphael  hath  painted, 

Or  Socrates  was  born, 
Or  prophets  once  were  cradled 

In  Nazareths  of  scorn  ;  — 

But  on  more  wonderful  journeys 
Than  any  the  pilgrims  know, 

Our  traveller  has  been  roving,  — 
The  book  in  his  heart  can  show. 


THE  MINISTER'S  JOURNEY     105 

He  has  voyaged  with  the  Captains 
Who  sail  the  seas  of  thought, 

Daring  with  them  the  tempest, 
Hailing  with  them  the  port. 

And  many  a  dreamer's  island 

Has  added  to  his  lore 
The  hope  that  made  it  Patmos,  — 

One  heavenly  vision  more. 

In  lands  men  deemed  unholy 

He  gleaned  from  every  clod 
Some  treasure-trove,  revealing 

Horizons  new  of  God. 

Till  Heathenesse  grew  homelike  ; 

While  the  traveller's  tale  was  still 
Of  a  Ceaseless  Care,  whose  presence 

Out-worketh  good  from  ill. 

And  unto  sacred  places, 

The  Palestines  within, 
By  pathways  of  the  Spirit, 

Our  traveller  hath  been. 


106        THE  MINISTER'S  JOURNEY 

Along  the  silent  beaches 

That  men  call  Birth  and  Death, 
Rimming  our  fields  of  summer, 

Giving  us  ocean-breath, 

He  paces  as  a  watcher 

Watching  the  tidal  sweep  ; 

And  his  greeting  is  full  of  music 
Caught  from  the  central  deep. 

He  knows  the  founts  of  laughter  ; 

Where  psalms  in  mothers  rise  ; 
How  purpose  dawns  in  manhood, 

And  love  in  maiden  eyes. 

In  still  lanes  of  confession, 
In  solemn  aisles  of  prayer, 

On  Alps  of  high  endeavor,  — 
We  meet  him  everywhere  ! 

The  others  see  but  Europe, 
And  go  as  feet  may  fare  ; 

Our  pilgrim,  still  out-sailing, 
Sees  many  an  Outre-Mer! 

To  J.  W.  C,  December  19,  1SS4 


IN  TWOS 

Somewhere  in  the  world  there  hide 
Garden-gates  that  no  one  sees 
Save  they  come  in  happy  twos,  — 
Not  in  ones,  nor  yet  in  threes. 

But  from  every  maiden's  door 
Leads  a  pathway  straight  and  true  ; 
Map  and  survey  know  it  not,  — 
He  who  finds,  finds  room  for  two ! 

Then  they  see  the  garden -gates  ! 
Never  skies  so  blue  as  theirs, 
Never  flowers  so  many-sweet, 
As  for  those  who  come  in  pairs. 

Round  and  round  the  alleys  wind  : 
Now  a  cradle  bars  the  way, 
Now  a  little  mound,  behind,  — 
So  the  two  go  through  the  day. 


108  IN   TWOS 

When  no  nook  in  all  the  lanes 
But  has  heard  a  song  or  sigh, 
Lo  !  another  garden-gate 
Opens  as  the  two  go  by. 

In  they  wander,  knowing  not ; 
*  Five  and  Twenty  I '  fills  the  air 
With  a  silvery  echo  low, 
All  about  the  startled  pair. 

Happier  yet  these  garden- walks  : 
Closer,  heart  to  heart,  they  lean  ; 
Stiller,  softer,  falls  the  light ; 
Few  the  twos,  and  far  between. 

Till,  at  last,  as  on  they  pass 
Down  the  paths  so  well  they  know, 
Once  again  at  hidden  gates 
Stand  the  two  :  they  enter  slow. 

Golden  Gates  of  '  Fifty  Years/ 
May  our  two  3rour  latchet  press ! 
Garden  of  the  Sunset  Land, 
Hold  their  dearest  happiness  ! 


IN   TWOS  109 

Then  a  quiet  walk  again : 
Then  a  wicket  in  the  wall: 
Then  one,  stepping  on  alone,  — 
Then  two  at  the  Heart  of  All ! 

December  22, 1879 


POEM  AND  DOGMA 

'T  was  Schliemann  back  from  Troy, 
With  relics  bronze  and  gold  : 

Where  other  eyes  saw  violets, 
He  saw  the  city  old. 

And,  fondling  a  brown  skull,  — 
6  My  learned  friend,'  said  he, 

1  Tells  me  that  this  a  maiden's  was, 
In  Troy  beyond  the  sea  ; 

And  from  these  angles  here 

Of  brow  and  cheek-bone  fine, 
He  judges  that  my  maiden  was 
A  creature  quite  divine. 

'  Ah,  yes  ! '  he  added  low, 

c  Virchow  wras  right  just  there, 

For  all  the  maidens  of  old  Troy 
Were  beautiful  and  rare.' 


POEM  AND  DOGMA  111 

By  summer  chance  we  met, 

And  sat  in  chatting  mood: 
Said  one,  '  How  noble  Jesus'  word 

In  that  Beatitude!' 

'  Ah,  yes  ! '  chimed  in  a  friend, 

'  You  speak  it  truly  there, 
For  all  that  Jesus  said  or  was, 

Was  right  beyond  compare.' 

4  And  Paul,'  one  said,  '  was  wrong; 

How  far  from  light  he  trod ! '  — 
'  But  then,  you  know,'  my  lady  chirped, 

<  >T  is  all  the  Word  of  God.' 


The  artlessness  the  same  ! 

And  why  should  tears  half-start 
Over  the  fabled  beauty  gone,  — 

Poem  of  German  heart ; 

While,  with  half-angry  thought, 

I  smile  away  the  creed 
Of  fabled  beauty  they  would  fain 

Persuade  me  that  I  need  ? 


112  POEM  AND  DOGMA 

Angry !  who  know  their  creeds 
Were  poems,  too,  —  that  died  ; 

That  all  the  world's  old  dogmas  are 
Its  poems  petrified. 

1881 


THE  HALO 

'  One  London  dealer  in  birds  received,  when  the  fashion 
was  at  its  height,  a  single  consignment  of  thirty-two  thou- 
sand dead  humming-birds ;  and  another  received  at  one 
time  thirty  thousand  aquatic  birds,  and  three  hundred  thou- 
sand pairs  of  wings.' 

Think  what  a  price  to  pay, 
Faces  so  bright  and  gay, 
Just  for  a  hat ! 
Flowers  un visited,  mornings  unsung, 
Sea-ranges    bare    of    the  wings   that    o'er- 
swung,  — 
Bared  just  for  that! 

Think  of  the  others,  too, 
Others  and  mothers,  too, 
Bright-Eyes  in  hat ! 
Hear  you  no  mother-groan  floating  in  air, 
Hear   you   no   little   moan,  —  birdlings'  de- 
spair, — 
Somewhere,  for  that  ? 


114  THE  HALO 

Caught  'mid  some  mother-work, 
Torn,  by  a  hunter  Turk, 
Just  for  your  hat ! 
Plenty  of  mother-heart  yet  in  the  world: 
All  the  more  wings  to  tear,  carefully  twirled  ! 
Women  want  that  ? 

Oh,  but  the  shame  of  it, 
Oh,  but  the  blame  of  it,  — 
Price  of  a  hat ! 
Just  for  a  jauntiness  brightening  the  street ! 
This  is  your  halo,  0  faces  so  sweet,  — 
Death :  and  for  that ! 

1885 


NOT  ALL  THEEE 

1  The  innocents,  of  whom  the  Scotch  say,  "  They  are  not 
all  there."' 

Something  short  in  the  making,  — 

Something  lost  on  the  way, 
As  the  little  Soul  was  taking 

Its  path  to  the  break  of  Day  ! 

Only  his  mood  or  passion, 

But  it  twitched  an  atom  back  ; 

And  she,  for  her  gods  of  fashion, 
Filched  from  the  pilgrim's  pack. 

The  Father  did  not  mean  it, 

The  Mother  did  not  know, 
No  human  eye  had  seen  it,  — 

But  the  little  Soul  needed  it  so  ! 


Through  the  street  there  passed  a  cripple, 
Maimed  from  before  its  birth  ; 

On  the  strange  face  gleamed  a  ripple, 
Like  a  half-dawn  on  the  earth. 


116  NOT  ALL    THERE 

It  passed,  —  and  it  awed  the  city, 
As  one  not  alive  nor  dead  : 

Eyes  looked  and  brimmed  with  pity,  ■ 
1  He  is  not  all  there/  they  said. 

Not  all !  for  part  is  behind  it, 

Lying  dropt  on  the  way  : 
That  part  —  could  two  but  find  it, 

How  welcome  the  end  of  Day  ! 

1883 


LET  IT  BEGIN  HERE 

Captain  Parker's  words  on  Lexington  Green:  'Don't 
fire%  unless  you  are  fired  on;  out  if  they  want  a  war,  let  it 
begin  here ! ' 

The  April  thrills  along  the  hills, 

The  violets  wake  below, 
But  never  to  the  thrill  they  knew 

A  hundred  years  ago, 
What  day  the  calls  from  pasture- walls 

In  echoing  signals  ran, 
And  swift  replied  the  country-side 

To  what  they  here  began. 

1  Let  it  begin ! '  a  Voice  within 

The  waiting  farmers  spake,  — 
His  voice  in  whom  the  Aprils  bloom, 

In  whom  the  Nations  wake  ! 
Old  lands  had  yearned,  old  dreamers  burned 

Fair  Freedom's  day  to  win, 
And  still  it  fled,  —  the  farmers  said, 

1  Now  let  it  here  begin ! ' 


118  LET  IT  BEGIN  HERE 

And  at  the  word  a  Nation  stirred ! 

Without  or  king  or  caste, 
Serene  and  strong  to  right  their  wrong, 

The  People  rose  at  last ! 
All  quick  to  feel  the  common  weal, 

The  many  in  the  one, 
Heart  pledged  to  heart  no  more  to  part : 

And  this  was  here  begun ! 

For  the  Lexington  Centennial,  April  19,  1875 


AUNT  PHILLIS'S    GUEST 

St.  Helena  Island  in  1863 

I  was  young  and  '  Harry  '  was  strong, 

The  summer  was  bursting  from  sky  and 
plain, 
Thrilling  our  blood  as  we  bounded  along,  — 
When  a  picture  flashed,  and  I  dropped  the 
rein. 

A  black  sea-creek,  with  snaky  run 

Slipping    through  low  green    leagues   of 
sedge  ; 

An  ebbing  tide,  and  a  setting  sun  ; 
A  hut  and  a  woman  by  the  edge. 

Her  back  was  bent  and  her  wool  was  gray; 

The  wrinkles  lay  close  on  the  withered  face; 
Children  were  buried  and  sold  away,  — 

The  Freedom  had  come  to  the  last  of  a  race ! 


120  AUNT  PHILLIS'S  GUEST 

She  lived  from  a  neighbor's  hominy-pot  ; 
And  praised  the  Lord,  if  'the  pain'  passed 
by; 
From  the  earthen  floor  the  smoke  curled  out 
Through  shingles  patched  with  the  bright 
blue  sky. 

<  Aunt  Phillis,  you  live  here  all  alone  ? ' 
I  asked,  and  pitied  the  gray  old  head  ; 

Sure  as  a  child,  in  quiet  tone, 
'  Me  and  Jesus,  Massa,'  she  said. 

I  started,  for  all  the  place  was  aglow 
With  a  presence  I  had  not  seen  before  ; 

The  air  was  full  of  a  music  low, 
And  the  Guest  Divine  stood  at  the  door ! 

Ay,  it  was  true  that  the  Lord  of  Life, 
Who  seeth  the  widow  give  her  mite, 

Had  watched  this  slave  in  her  weary  strife, 
And  shown  himself  to  her  longing  sight. 

The  hut  and  the  dirt,  the  rags  and  the  skin, 
The  grovelling  want  and   the    darkened 
mind,  — 


AUNT  PHILLIS'S  GUEST         121 

I  looked  on  this ;  but  the  Lord,  within  : 
I  would  what  he  saw  was  in  me  to  find ! 

A  childlike  soul,  whose  faith  had  force 
To  see  what  the  angels  see  in  bliss  : 

She  lived,  and  the  Lord  lived  ;  so,  of  course, 
They  lived  together,  —  she  knew  but  this. 

And  the  life  that  I  had  almost  despised 
As  something  to  pity,  so  poor  and  low, 

Had  already  borne  fruit  that  the  Lord  so 
prized 
He  loved  to  come  near  and  see  it  grow. 

No  sorrow  for  her  that  the  life  was  done  : 
A  few  days  more  of  the  hut's  unrest, 

A  little  while  longer  to  sit  in  the  sun,  — 
Then  —  He  would  be  host,  and  she  would 
be  guest ! 

And  up  above,  if  an  angel  of  light 

Should  stop  on  his  errand  of  love  some  day 

To  ask, '  Who  lives  in  the  mansion  bright  ? ' 
'  Me  and  Jesus/  Aunt  Phillis  will  say. 


122         AUNT  PHILLIS'S    GUEST 

A  fancy,  foolish  and  fond,  does  it  seem  ? 
And  things  are  not  as  Aunt  Phillises  dream  ? 

Friend,  surely  so  ! 

For  this  I  know,  — 
That  our  faiths  are  foolish  by  falling  below, 
Not  coming  above,  what  God  will  show  ; 
That  his  commonest  thing  hides  a  wonder 

vast, 
To  whose  beauty  our  eyes  have  never  passed  ; 
That  his  fact  in  the  present,  or  in  the  to-be, 
Outshines  the  best  that  we  think  we  see. 


THE  NEGRO  BURYING-GROUND 

St.  Helena  Island  in  1863 

'Mid  the  sunny  flat  of  the  cotton-field 
Lies  an  acre  of  forest-tangle  still ; 

A  cloister  dim,  where  the  gray  moss  waves 
And  the  live-oaks  lock  their  arms  at  will. 

Here  in  the  shadows  the  slaves  would  hide 
As  they  dropped  the  hoe  at  death's  release, 

And  leave  no  sign  but  a  sinking  mound 
To  show  where  they  passed  on  their  way 
to  peace. 

This  was  the  Gate  —  there  was  none  but 
this  — 

To  a  Happy  Land  where  men  were  men ; 
And  the  dusky  fugitives,  one  by  one, 

Stole  in  from  the  bruise  of  the  prison-pen. 

When,  lo !  in  the  distance  boomed  the  guns, 
The  bruise  was  over,  and  '  Massa'  had  fled  ! 

But  Death  is  the  '  Massa  '  that  never  flees, 
So  still  to  the  oaks  they  bore  the  dead. 


124      THE  NEGRO  BURYING-GROUND 

'T  was  at  set  of  sun  ;  a  tattered  troop 
Of  children  circled  a  little  grave, 

Chanting  an  anthem  rich  in  its  peace 
As  ever  pealed  in  cathedral-nave,  — 

The  A,  B,  C,  that  the  lips  below 

Had  learnt  with  them  in  the  school   to 
shout. 
Over  and  over  they  sung  it  slow, 

Crooning  a  mystic  meaning  out. 

A,  B,  C,  D,  E,  F,  G,  — 

Down  solemn  alphabets  they  swept : 
The  oaks  leaned  close,  the  moss  swung  low,  — 

What    strange  new  sound    among    them 
crept  ? 

The  holiest  hymn  that  the  children  knew  ! 
'T  was  dreams  come  real,  and  heaven  come 
near ; 
'T  was  light,  and  liberty,  and  joy, 

And  '  white-folks'-sense,'  —  and  God  right 
here  ! 


THE  NEGRO  BURYING-GROUND    125 

Over  and  over ;  they  dimly  felt 

This  was  the  charm  could  make  black  white, 
This  was  the  secret  of  i  Massa's '  pride, 

And  this,  unknown,  made  the  negro's  night. 

What  could  they  sing  of  braver  cheer 
To  speed  on  her  unseen  way  the  friend  1 

The  children  were  facing  the  mystery  Death 
With  the  deepest  prayer  that  their  hearts 
could  send. 


Children,  too,  and  the  mysteries  last  ! 

We  are  but  comrades  with  them  there,  — 
Stammering  over  a  meaning  vast, 

Crooning  our  guesses  of  how  and  where. 

But  the  children  were  right  with  their  A,  B,  C  ; 

In  our  stammering  guess  so  much  we  say  ! 
The  singers  were  happy,  and  so  are  we  : 

Deep  as  our  wants  are  the  prayers  we  pray. 


GETTYSBUEG  IN   1885 

After  a  visit  to  the  Panorama 

One  step  from  the  busy  street,  and  there, 
With  the  summer  hills  around, 

In  the  heart  of  a  summer  day  it  lies,  — 
A  Battle  without  a  sound. 

Whatever  of  battle  the  eyes  may  see  — 

The  sweep  of  men  to  death, 
The  dash  of  horse,  and  the  rush  of  gun, 

The  musket's  fiery  breath  ; 

The  massing  clouds  of  the  cannon-smoke, 

The  horror  of  bursting  shell, 
The  wreck  of  wheel  and  caisson, 

The  surgeon's  mimic  hell ; 

The  uptossed  arms  and  the  ashen  cheek, 
The  droop  of  the  shattered  limb, 

The  men  by  the  blood-pools  in  the  grass, 
The  bodies  stiff  and  grim. 


GETTYSBURG  IN  1885  127 

We  see  it  all,  and  we  hear  no  sound  ! 

We  listen  for  roar  and  boom, 
For  the  crack  and  the  ping  and  the  bullet's 
thud  :  — 

A  stillness  like  the  tomb ! 

No  rattle  to  wheel,  no  clatter  to  hoof, 

No  bugle-call  or  cry, 
No  fierce  hurrah  along  that  line 

Where  the  columns  pres3  to  die ; 

Those  sullen  prisoners  give  no  oath  ; 

The  face  in  the  grass  no  groan  ; 
Its  '  Good-bye  ! '  reached  a  thousand  miles, 

But  we  catch  never  a  tone. 

Ah,  if  we  could  add  sound  to  sight, 
And  then  could  paint  the  strain 

And  the  splendor  in  the  soldier's  heart, 
Breasting  death's  hurricane, 

And  the  flashing  signals  of  his  thought 

To  homes  that  signal  back, 
And  the  woman's  face  and  the  climbing  child 

That  lie  in  the  bullet's  track  ; 


128  GETTYSBURG  IN  1885 

And   the  breathless  pause,   each  pulse-beat 
hushed, 

Of  a  watching  continent ; 
And  the  sense  of  a  nation's  fate  at  stake 

In  the  awful  tournament ; 

And  the  upturned  brows  of  a  million  slaves 

Eeading  the  face  of  God 
For  the  word  that  would  lift  them  into  Men, 

Or  doom  them  back  to  the  Clod,  — 

Could  we  rim  all  this  in  those  summer  hills 

And  add  to  what  eyes  see, 
In  the  cloister  quaint  by  the  city  street 

Then  '  Gettysburg '  would  be  ! 


And  yet,  as  I  hark,  the  soundlessness 
Seems  song  of  the  war's  release, 

And  the  beauty  to  hint,  'mid  Battle's  woe, 
The  Battle's  after-peace. 


, 


THE  RIGHT   GOES   MARCHING  ON 

For  Decoration  Day 

One  moment  on  the  scaffold,  and  he  left  it 

Holy  Ground ! 
Three    hundred    thousand    heroes  now   lie 

guarding  it  around, 
And  reverent  hearts  are  pilgrim  still  to  many 

a  sacred  mound,  — 

jqcI  the  Right  goes  m 

God  had  counted  up  the   slave-graves,  and 
heard  the  black  man's  moan, 

Till  at  last  his  leaping  thunder  shook   the 
awful  Judgment-Throne,  — 

*  For  each  lash  a  cannon-crash  !     For  each 
cry  a  battle-groan  ! '  — 
.nd  the  Right  goes  ma 

The  Hands  wherein  the  sparrow  falls,  that 

beckon  to  the  star, 
Are   Hands  that  harness  unseen   dooms  to 

Wrong's  triumphal  car, 


\ 


130     THE    RIGHT  GOES  MARCHING  ON 

And  the   steeds  untiring  draw  the  nations 
trembling  to  the  Bar,  — 
And  the  Right  goes  marching  on  ! 

Then,  if  perchance  a  nation's  Soul  from  out 

her  shame  shall  rise, 
And  light  of  Justice  kindle  fresh  within  her 

chastened  eyes, 
The  God  who  dooms  shall  save  her  by  the 

pain  that  purifies,  — 


Lo,  the  flowers  are  all  a-blossom,  and   the 
grasses  are  a-wave 

Where  the  bodies  of  our  hero  dead  are  sleep- 
ing in  the  grave  : 

So  shall  beauty  crown  salvation  through  the 
Hands  so  strong  to  save,  — 
And  the  Right  goes  marching  on  ! 

1884 


OUR  COUNTRY 

'  0  Beautiful,  my  Country  ! ' 

Be  thine  a  nobler  care 
Than  all  thy  wealth  of  commerce, 

Thy  harvests  waving  fair : 
Be  it  thy  pride  to  lift  up 

The  manhood  of  the  poor  ; 
Be  thou  to  the  oppressed 

Fair  Freedom's  open  door  ! 

For  thee  our  fathers  suffered, 

For  thee  they  toiled  and  prayed  ; 
Upon  thy  holy  altar 

Their  willing  lives  they  laid. 
Thou  hast  no  common  birthright, 

Grand  memories  on  thee  shine  ; 
The  blood  of  pilgrim  nations 

Commingled  flows  in  thine. 


132  OUR  COUNTRY 

0  Beautiful,  our  Country  ! 

Round  thee  in  love  we  draw  • 
Thine  is  the  grace  of  Freedom, 

The  majesty  of  Law. 
Be  Righteousness  thy  sceptre, 

Justice  thy  diadem  ; 
And  on  thy  shining  forehead 

Be  Peace  the  crowning  gem ! 

1884 


INDEX   OF  FIEST  LINES 


Page 

A  light  upon  the  harvest-field 99 

All  hidden  lie  the  future  ways 54 

All  the  Morning  in  a  face 95 

And  are  the  children  prophets,  then    ....  60 

A  silvery  tide,  called  ■  Sunny  Side '      ....  51 

'Behold,'  —  in  vision  said 69 

Clear  in  memory's  silent  reaches 37 

Fairer  grows  the  earth  each  morning  ....  25 

Father,  to  thee  we  look  in  all  our  sorrow     .     .  39 

Fifty  times  the  years  have  turned 97 

For  us  no  Past  ?  Nay,  what  is  present  sweetness  84 

From  heart  to  heart,  from  creed  to  creed     .     .  29 

God  ploughed  one  day  with  an  earthquake  .     .74 

Go  not,  my  soul,  in  search  of  him 19 

He  hides  within  the  lily 15 


134  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Page 

I  cannot  think  of  them  as  dead 35 

I  hear  it  often  in  the  dark    .......  11 

I  little  see,  I  little  know 23 

Immortal  by  their  deed  and  word      ....  65 
I  walk  the  Cliff,  in  earlier  days  oft  trod      .     .100 

I  was  young  and  *  Harry  '  was  strong    .     .     .  119 

Just  on  the  threshold  of  threescore-and-ten     .  103 

Many  things  in  life  there  are 49 

'Mid  the  sunny  flat  of  the  cotton-field    .     .     .  123 

Not  always  on  the  mount  may  we     ...     .  45 

Not  in  our  waking  hours  alone 101 

Not  to  the  lanes  of  England 104 

'O  Beautiful,  my  Country!' 131 

O  Heart  of  all  the  shining  day 33 

O  Name,  all  other  names  above 31 

One  moment  on  the  scaffold,  and  he  left  it 

Holy  Ground 129 

One  step  from  the  busy  street,  and  there    .     .  126 

One  thought  I  have,  my  ample  creed      ...  9 

Only  ten  miles  from  the  city 77 

O  thou,  in  all  thy  might  so  far 13 

O  thou  who  art  of  all  that  is 41 

Praise  to  God  and  thanksgiving 67 

Routine  of  duties 72 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES  135 

Page 

Shelf  over  shelf  the  mountain  rose     ....  80 

Something  short  in  the  making 115 

Somewhere  in  the  world  there  hide    ....  107 

Still  the  angels  sing  on  high 55 

The  April  thrills  along  the  hills 117 

The  church-bells  for  service  are  ringing  ...  57 

The  Lord  is  in  his  Holy  Place 17 

The  rose  is  queen  among  the  flowers       ...  53 

Think  what  a  price  to  pay 113 

To-day  be  joy  in  every  heart 63 

'T  was  Schliemann  back  from  Troy    ....  110 

Twice  have  I  turned  to  hear  a  tone    ....  91 

We  pray  no  more,  made  lowly  wise  ....  27 

What  does  it  take 87 

When  con  rage  fails,  and  faith  bums  low     .     .  47 

Wh  en  the  night  is  still  and  far      .....  21 

Where  did  yesterday's  sunset  go 89 

Who  does  not  feel  how  weak 43 


